Losing Control : His Madness, His Cure Chapter 28

The line's stupid long, but I'm already here, so I guess I’m in for the ride. Jax stands next to me, close enough that I can feel his presence like a low-grade fever. We’re both facing forward, not talking, which should be fine. I like the silence, silence is safe. But for some reason, it’s awkward as hell.

My gaze flicks to him, catching the fading bruise along his cheekbone. It’s yellowing at the edges, a little tender still.

“You should get some ointment for those,” I mutter, not because I care—okay maybe I do—but mostly just to fill the silence before it eats me alive.

He doesn’t answer. Instead, he steps forward, cutting in front of me in the line like we’re in third grade and he’s got a lunch ticket I don’t. I frown, but before I can say anything, I feel it...his stare.

The line shifts forward. He moves with it without glancing back, still in front of me. Still staring. Then, without a single damn word, he reaches out and snatches my cap right off my head.

“Hey,” I snap, going to grab it back, but he lifts it just out of reach, inspecting it like it’s some rare artifact. His fingers brush the brim.

"This is distracting," he states, "I wanna see you the way I like....clearly picture how this pretty face would look hollowed out for me. "

My stomach does something dumb, like flutter. Fucking flutter. What the hell.

I scoff. “Give it back.”

He smirks and shakes his head, keeping it out of reach behind him. The cap’s nothing special...black, a little worn—but I suddenly feel weirdly exposed without it.

We lock eyes, and for a second, everything around us dulls. The noise, the heat, the people, it’s like he’s all I can see. And then I look away, because fuck that!

“Uh-uh,” he murmurs. “ Eyes on me Xander....I’m not done looking.”

God. My knees almost fold. His voice does that. Like warm smoke slipping into my bloodstream and settling in places I didn’t invite it to. I force my gaze up again, meet his eyes....dark, intense, amused. I hate it. I like it. I hate that I like it.

“New rule,” I say, clearing my throat. “No sexual jokes.”

He lifts an eyebrow, mock offended. “No what?”

“I’m serious,” I say, sharper this time. “If you don't want me to turn around and walk away right now, there’s gonna be none of your usual dirty talk. No weird innuendos. No sexual comments. Just… don’t.”

He studies me, eyes flicking across my face like he’s trying to figure out what kind of creature I am. “Why not?” he asks, genuinely curious.

“ Because I didn't come here to be objectified by you again. So just promise.” I mutter.

A beat....then another.

He chuckles. “ Fine. I promise.”

I narrow my eyes. “I need to hear it without the smirk.”

“Cross my heart.”

The line finally creeps to the front, and we step up to the window of the food truck. It smells incredible, like grilled something and sauce and fried heaven. The guy behind the counter looks up and grins the second he sees Jax.

“Tito,” Jax greets him with a curt nod, voice lighter, casual.

Tito’s eyes crinkle. “Look who it is. Been a while.”

“Yeah,” Jax says, scratching the back of his neck like he’s suddenly… modest?

Tito’s grin widens. “First time I’ve seen you show up with a friend.”

Jax turns to me, eyes twinkling. “He’s not a friend.”

I blink. “ I'm flattered, thanks.”

" He's more like a mouthy stray I've been tempting with something he's dying to taste. "

I shake my head so hard I almost break something.

Tito laughs, clearly entertained, then he grins proudly. “Ah, yes! My food does that. You feed them good, they stay. You want them loyal? Give them meat, spice, little heat. Works every time.”

Jax chuckles, low and smug. “Couldn’t agree more, Tito.”

I don’t even look up. Of course he couldn’t. He’s not talking about the damn beef wrap and we both know it.

“ Hey, that recommendation you made? The spicy chicken torta with extra jalapeños? Blew my mind. You weren’t wrong.”

“I’m never wrong,” Jax replies, and now I’m standing here watching this weirdly wholesome exchange unfold between him and the food truck dude he clearly has some bond with.

He eventually orders without even glancing at the menu. Just rattles off something like they've done this a hundred times. Tito nods, gives him this easy little smirk, then heads off to prep it.

I stare at Jax, arms crossed. Something doesn’t compute.

He turns his head a little, like he can feel it. “What?” he asks.

I raise an eyebrow. “Just trying to process whether I actually witnessed social skills. Like...verbal ones. In the wild.”

He scoffs, one corner of his mouth tugging up. “Jealous?”

“Of what? You being able to order food without threatening to punch someone?”

He leans his shoulder against the side of the food truck. “You ran off last time. At the lake, didn't even get to taste the food.”

“ I ran off because of you and your damn tricks.”

He angles toward me, closer now. Voice lower. “ I still fed you though, didn’t I?”

The words hit like a fucking matchstrike.

Heat rises up my neck before I can even blink. My stomach flips like I just fell off a damn rooftop. I know exactly what he's talking about, I can still feel the ground under my knees if I think too hard. Still feel him gripping my hair like it was the only thing anchoring him to earth.

I look away, fast. “That breaks the rule,” I mutter.

He chuckles, pleased with himself, and turns back around just as Tito returns with two brown paper-wrapped meals stacked with grease at the corners.

Without missing a beat, Jax slips a hand inside his pocket and pulls out what looks like a wad of cash. Thick enough it makes my brows lift.

He peels off a few bills and hands them to off with a casual, “Keep the change.”

Tito grins, gives me a little chin lift, and steps back inside. Jax grabs one of the packages and nods toward the other. “Get that.”

I do, more out of reflex than anything, then fall into step beside him as he walks toward one of the empty benches near the truck. The brown paper is hot and smells incredible. But my mind is still stuck on that roll of cash.

I glance over at him. “Where the hell did all that cash that come from?”

We sit and he pops open the top of his box, pulls out a loaded taco like he’s done this every day of his life. “My job.”

I eye him suspiciously. “You’re not, like, an organ trafficker or anything… right?”

He glances at me sideways, amused. “You think I’d tell you if I was?”

“ I think you’d brag.”

I pull out my own taco but keep watching him, skeptical. “Okay. What is your job, then?”

" Freelance work. Bit of this, bit of that. "

“That’s not a real answer,” I say, narrowing my eyes. “What exactly do you do Jax?”